et cetera
by mondlering moofoot
Summary: Rachel and Jesse start getting used to each other. / Rachel and Jesse start. -- established relationship, mini-oneshots, following my story 'habit'
1. comfort

I hate myself a little for doing this, but I really, really can't stop thinking about these two in the future. All I'm doing at this point is writing down what I'm thinking about all the time!

This will probably be a tiny series of moments after they get together (as in my fic _habit_, so this is set after that). I've already got a few written, which is why I'm even posting this.

**Disclaimer: **If I owned the characters that you recognise in this, they'd be having a spin-off series set in the future. On Broadway. Yes.

* * *

**1: comfort (hers)  
**

"Hi, Rachel."

"Jesse?" Surprised, she stops fidgeting (to the relief of the make-up assistant, who's been touching her up repeatedly for the last ten minutes as she waits to enter the stage). "I'm on stage soon, I shouldn't talk."

"I know," he says simply. "How're you feeling?"

" - _terrible_," she says, like she can't hold it back. "I've never had to perform with someone who hates me before. I'm perspiring so much that I know Heather here loathes me right now." (Heather glances up and smiles at her lightly.) "I think the director's given up on us." A blister between the biggest toes on her left foot and the way her co-star kept glaring at her during the last rehearsals make it to a list of grievances that she offers to him, anxious. At some point Heather squeezes her shoulder affectionately and slips away.

When she stops, he doesn't reply right away, so Rachel listens to him breathing on the other end of the line. She lets her eyes drift closed.

"How're you feeling?" he asks again.

She breathes in deeply. "Ready." She pauses. "I would've been OK on my own, you know."

"I know," he says, and she can practically hear his smile. "But why would you want to do that on your own?"

She grins in understanding. "Boyfriend perks."

"Exactly."

She glances at the clock by the stage exit. "I should - "

"OK. Break a leg, crazy. I'll be there with you next week."

* * *

**comfort (his)**

He wakes up when he hears his name being called softly. His body is aching from sitting uncomfortably on the stiff hospital chairs, so he sits up and stretches, yawning. His fist barely slips past a warm body and he hears a soft squeal.

His eyes snap open and meet wide, brown ones, staring right back at him.

He tugs her down to his lap and wraps his arms around her tightly.

"Hi," she whispers, putting her arms around his shoulders. "What's the news?"

"Still critical," he says. He studies her intently. "Aren't you supposed to be - "

"I let the understudy have it," she says dismissively. He wants to be annoyed with her for dropping the show for him, but he's also too relieved to see someone familiar here, someone _safe_.

And he's _touched_. They haven't made any dramatic declarations of love yet (and of course it's going to be dramatic - look at them), but at this point he's almost assured of the fact that they're both in it for the long run.

Instead of saying any of that, he kisses her forehead and pulls her into him. She kisses his neck then buries her face against it, saying nothing else.

(She's bad at being quiet, but she'll be just that for as long as he needs her to be.)


	2. secret

If this goes the way I want it to, you'll be seeing a "theme" or central idea for every chapter, and two ficlets that fit it - one from his side, one from hers.

* * *

**2: secret (theirs)**

She's far too gropey with him backstage. No one's surprised when Jenna finds them making out in the corridor right after a show.

* * *

**secret (his)**

" - and now onto something a little more personal - "

"Great," he says cheerfully, rolling his eyes. The studio crowd titters.

" - fans are _dying_ to know - just what is going on between you and Rachel Berry?"

He smiles, shaking his head. "Nothing."

"We don't believe you!" The crowd applauds at this, cheering the host on.

"I'm actually dating someone else," he confides instead. "And it's been going - "

The host is beaming at him. "Someone else? And who might that be?"

"You know I can't tell you that."

Undeterred, she tries to push him further. "Last time you were here you told us that when you fall in love, we'd know. Does the offer still stand?"

He waits too long to reply, and he winces when he realises this. The studio crowd 'oooh's in anticipation as the camera zooms in on him. Jesse tries to hold back the embarrassed flush from his face. Only he would tell a live audience that he's in love with someone even before he told that someone. (He hopes she isn't watching.)

Matt, who's sitting right next to him, cuts in. "_I'm_ single," he says, leering at the camera as it switches focus onto him instead. The host's eyes brighten at this and she shifts a little closer to him.

Jesse is breathing a small sigh of relief when Matt jabs him discreetly in the stomach with his elbow. He shoots a glare in his direction.

* * *

She's waiting for him at the parking lot outside the studio, right next to his car. He notices the giddy smile on her face from far away, and he walks a little faster.

"Jesse St James," she says grandly, pushing herself off the car as he approaches her. "According to sources, you have just recently confessed that you are very much in love with your girlfriend."

He stops in front of her. "According to sources, huh?"

She's bouncing a little bit on her feet (she is _too cute_), nodding. "You love her very, very much. Truly, madly, deeply. _You_," she says, poking his chest, "don't know what you'd do without her. You were made for loving her, baby!"

He can't help it; he's smiling at her goofily as he picks up quickly. "And she was made for loving me!"

She squints at him mockingly, rocking back on her heels. "Do you know that for certain, Mr James?"

"I do know that I'd be kissing her right now if I didn't know there were cameras on us," he says, shrugging.

Her cheeks turn a little redder. She glances around, then grins at him mischievously. "And why would the cameras be a problem?"

He looks at her doubtfully - she'd been the one to insist they keep it a secret from the public. "Why wouldn't they be?"

"Well." She reaches up and lets her hands fall behind his neck, pulling him down just slightly. "She loves you, doesn't she?"


	3. worry

This site has decided that it hates hyphen dividers, so I hate this site.

* * *

**3: worry (his)**

After tossing and turning in bed for a long time, she's finally on the brink of falling asleep when she feels her bed shifting at the side. She opens her eyes and frowns at him.

"Hi," he greets her, grinning widely.

"Go away," she says as she pushes him away weakly. "You're going to get sick."

He's just as terrible about sick people as she is, strict and cautious. Back in high school he bought them matching gloves and masks during flu season as a joke (which she knows they both used very seriously; she probably still has her set somewhere in her apartment). This is why her jaw drops in shock as he sits down comfortably by her hip, on top of the covers, totally unfazed.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, then remembers, "Temperature!" He leans over the side of the bed to reach her drawer, where he knows she keeps her basic medical aid (she'd lectured him and Jenna about basic safety after Jenna sprained her ankle during early rehearsals).

"I've already taken my temperature," she protests, but before she can continue the thermometer is in her mouth.

He presses his fingers against her forehead as he waits for the digital beep. "I've never seen you sick before." He pulls the thermometer out and sighs. "Fever."

"You should get off the bed," she mumbles, turning over to her side. There are good reasons for why he hasn't seen her sick before. They've only been dating for two weeks, this is the first time they've been in a bed together, she looks disgusting, and her voice, which is undeniably her absolute best feature, is clogged and faint, cracking at every other word.

He ignores her and pulls her onto her back again. "You are excellent at looking miserable," he tells her, rolling his eyes. "Have you eaten anything?"

She shakes her head. "Go home," she repeats.

He shrugs in response, pushing himself off the bed. "Sure, if you promise to take care of yourself and eat something now."

She considers this and makes a face at him. "Fine, soup," she says, pulling up her covers. "Then you're leaving."

xx

When she wakes up later that night, her empty soup bowl and spoon have been cleared, and a silver flask is by her bedside. She sits up to reach for it and notices the man sleeping on a chair, leaning against her desk. She peers at him closely. Unlike any other person she's ever seen, Jesse's face doesn't become younger or looser when he's asleep - it actually becomes rougher, toughening like he's determined to reach whatever he's chasing in his dreams. She loves him for it.

It doesn't escape her notice that he's sitting as far away from her as possible, but she's surprised he's even here. She wonders if she would've stayed for him, if he'd been the one with the fever.

Then she spots the mask on the desk, by the side, like he considered wearing it but decided against it. (It's blue, not pink - not hers.)

Yes, she would've stayed.

xx

He's still on the chair when she wakes up again the next morning, but he's closer to the bed as he watches her. "Hi."

"Hi," she whispers. "I thought - "

"You look cold. Are you cold?" There's something in his eyes that she's not used to from him.

"I'm fine." No, she's not; it's gotten worse overnight and she feels like ripping her throat out. She looks away from his eyes quickly and clears her throat. "Leaving?" she asks, noticing that he's rolled down the sleeves of his shirt again.

"I have classes in two hours and my students are paying me," he says, smiling wryly. "I'd better leave." He nods at her bedside table, where there are now two flasks sitting within reaching distance from the bed. "The silver flask has hot water and the black one has some weird mixture I looked up on the internet. And you have six new boxes of Kleenex."

She smiles at him weakly. The smile drops, though, when he steps forward quickly and presses his lips against her forehead. He takes his time to pull away, and it's clear he isn't thinking of himself at all.

"Get better," he says softly. "It's weird when you aren't talking about everything. At hyperspeed."

She doesn't have the energy to muster a playful glare and just smiles again. "Thank you," she says.

He shrugs. "I'll come back tonight with medicine, OK? And I told Jenna to get you off work, so you don't need to call in."

She nods. She closes her eyes, snuggling deeper into her bed, and she feels his hands by her neck as he pulls up the covers, brushes her hair back from her eyes, sweeps his thumbs against the sides of her jaw.

* * *

**worry (hers)**

It isn't until months later that she realises how he'd felt. She drops by his apartment one night and finds him completely exhausted, shaking, and lying against the wall outside his bedroom.

By the time Matt comes over to help him to his room, she's asked him enough and remembered enough (he lost his favourite waterbottle two weeks ago and hasn't had the heart to replace it yet; he'd asked her for lip balm three days ago; he hasn't been eating right for the last few nights) to deduce that he's suffering from dehydration. It's in its early stages, but he's pale, quiet, and weak, and she's unsettled by it.

Matt helps her pull the one-seat couch from the living room into the bedroom. She stays there for the next day, only leaving to buy him more Gatorade. She doesn't pull away when his temperature rises, not even when he tells her he feels nauseous.

Jane, the director at the American production of _Mink_ (they'd gotten close when Rachel called her check up on the show and called back frequently to ensure its quality), tells her she's never seen Rachel look this worried before when she meets her for lunch at a cafe two blocks from Jesse's place.

Truthfully, she doesn't feel at peace until she wakes up one morning on his bed and hears him getting ready for his morning run.


	4. missing

I had a fight ready for this chapter, but after _Bad Reputation_ I figured something a little lighter would be appreciated. Thanks for the love, guys!

* * *

**4: missing (her)**

She misses London so much that she decides to head back there for a couple of months - gets her landlord to rent out her place, puts her things in storage, gives her friends her love, and leaves.

She has a blast. She watches all her friends' current plays, even reprising her role as Portia in _Mink_ during a couple of matinee sessions. Her friend Ryan, the male lead from _Mink_, helps her find an apartment to stay in for the duration of her visit, finds the contacts of her old friends, gets her tickets of the shows she's been meaning to see, and is basically so helpful she ends up spending over half her time with him.

She mentions (gushes about) this to both Jesse and Quinn. Jesse's response is quiet and controlled.

Quinn, on the other hand, asks her, "Did you tell Jesse this?"

"...yes?" she answers, confused. "Should I not have?"

Quinn sighs heavily, exasperated. "I know you're not used to relationships, you moron, but how would you react to Jesse telling you he's been spending all his time with a really nice friend who's a girl?"

Rachel's eyebrows furrow. "But I don't spend all my time with Ryan. And the circumstances of this arrangement - "

"You wouldn't be jealous?" Quinn argues.

Rachel pauses, biting the inside of her lip in consideration. "Maybe," she concedes. "But he knows I love him."

"Not the point," she says disapprovingly. "He hasn't seen you in three weeks and you've spent the whole time with another guy."

"Jesse knows he's better than Ryan," Rachel grumbles, but shakes her head. "Fine, I'll call him or something."

xx

Despite her discussion with Quinn, she nearly drops the glass she's holding in her hand when his voice comes through the speaker by the door of her apartment five days later.

"Guess who!"

"_Jesse_!" She's surprised but she's already grinning excitedly. "What're you doing here?"

"I was bored," he says impatiently, and then, softer, almost sheepishly, adds, "And I've missed you."

She struggles not to smile.

"Can you let me up?"

"Quinn told me that if you came to visit me here, it means you're jealous of Ryan."

"Oh."

"Are you?"

"Why would I be?" he says, incredulous. "You know that I am clearly superior to him in every way possible."

"That's what I told her you'd say," she says, satisfied. "Come up." She presses the buzzer.

During karaoke the next night, Jesse smirks at Ryan as they get up to sing an old song together. Rachel grins at him when he returns back to their table. He laces his fingers through hers and stays that way for the rest of the night, and she's never been more grateful for his confidence. She's glad he didn't come here for any reason but her.

* * *

**missing (them)**

She ends up staying for three months, and plans to leave exactly three months after she arrives. When she gets information about an earlier flight, though, she doesn't hesitate - if she thinks about staying longer she'll never want to leave, she loves London. But she misses New York, she misses her friends there. (She misses him.) Her goodbyes are quick, making her friends promise to come to New York. She watches movies throughout the flight.

Jane picks her up at the airport, and though Rachel doesn't make any request for it (she's falling asleep by the time she climbs into the car), she drops her off at Jesse's apartment. They carry her luggage up to the lift on the second floor, and by the time she gets off on the top floor and remembers where he keeps his spare key, she's practically sleepwalking. She leaves the suitcases by the door, finds an old t-shirt, and collapses into his bed, surprise be damned.

Enveloped in his scent, she falls asleep faster than she has in a long time.

xx

She wakes up when she hears her name, and sits up just as his bedroom door opens.

They stare at each other.

"You're back," he says. She'd tease him about how unnecessary that was, but he's starting to beam and something shifts in her. She's missed him _so much_; and only right now, looking at him, does she feel the extent of it. She moves to get off the bed.

"No, stay there," he says, and within seconds he's on the bed, crawling up the length of her body. His elbows and knees sink into the mattress on either side of her, and finally, face-to-face, he breathes, "Hi."

"Hi."

xx

"I knew you'd come home early," he says, pulling away from her slightly. He kisses her cheek, her jaw, her chin.

"Surprise," she says. She drags her hands up his back, and pulls him down roughly to bury her face in his neck. "Missed you."

"_You_ wanted to go," he reminds her, his voice low. He lets his fingers trail up her legs, stopping at the soft skin at her waist under the t-shirt. He lowers himself further so he's touching every part of her he can reach, and he's never been more grateful for the small size of her body.

"I'll burn my passport." She starts laughing into his neck.

He feels her teeth pressing against his skin in her wide, open smile, and tries to pull her even closer. He slides his arm around her waist, still under the shirt. "Promise?"

She lifts her leg and sets it on top of his, tugging him in slightly. "Maybe just come with me next time."

"OK." He draws back so he can kiss her again lightly. She lets out a low, satisfied hum, and he feels it on his lips, the perfect note. He's struck by the strangest, strongest need to sing something with her. "Don't go home yet."

"OK," she agrees easily as she unbuttons the first buttons of his shirt. She presses her ear against his chest, scraping her finger nails lightly against the shirt fabric.

She came back straight to him, he thinks; _surely that means something_. Encouraged, he suggests, "Or you could just unpack here."

She just hums again. "I'm sleepy," she mumbles, her hand clenching a fistful of his shirt.

He should be insulted but can't help but chuckle. He turns them over so they're both on their sides. She kisses his chest and wraps her arm around him. He hadn't been tired when he'd first gotten home, but this is the most comfortable he's felt in weeks, and he feels something in him settle. He knows she feels the same when he hears her take a deep, long breath, and then move closer into him.

Her fingers tap at his collarbone in time with his heart until she falls asleep. He has to get some of his accounts for his classes straight, but her grips tightens when he tries to slip away, so he stays.

xx

She only leaves the next morning to bring her things back to his place.


	5. jealousy

I hate relationship drama, especially with older couples, so even this fairly normal theme isn't going to take on the usual "you're stealing my man/woman!" type of conflict. I hope it's believable for you!

The next chapter up will be **perspective**, and it's only going to be one part instead of two, so maybe that'll come up sooner than usual.

* * *

**jealousy (his)**

"I didn't get the part."

"Oh, Jesse, I'm sorry."

He sinks into their couch and curls forwards, his elbows resting on his knees, instead of leaning back as he usually does. Rachel sits next to him and rubs his back. They sit in silence.

"Did you hear about _Dick Tracy_?" he asks, straightening. Her hand slides off his back and she rearranges her shirt unnecessarily.

"I'm in the final two in consideration," she says.

The side of his lip quirks up slightly and he nods. "You know who the other one is?"

"Olivia George."

His smile widens a little as he turns to face her. "Please, there's no way she's getting that role," he says, leaning forward to kiss her on the cheek. His arm stretches over her shoulder and her hand comes up to rest against his chest.

She smiles at his confidence in her, then stares at him seriously. "Are you OK?"

He shrugs stiffly and she sighs, pulling away from him.

"You're not always going to get something."

"_You_'re doing fine," he says petulantly, crossing his arms. He knows he's being immature, but this is the third role he's lost in the same time she's landed two.

"I _love_ doing this," she counters. "And I don't mind waiting between roles because I know I'm just going to get better by the next audition."

He bristles at this. "Are you implying - "

"It's nothing to do with what you _don't have_, Jesse," she says patiently, resting her hand on his knee. "The only way I got through my _hell_ of a high school was by feeling like this, by trying this hard. You never had to do that."

Maybe she has a point. Still. He frowns as he stares out the window from his seat on the couch. She gets up and walks to the kitchen.

"It's just disappointing," he confesses finally, heavily.

She steps out and leans against the door ledge, a bottle of water in her hand. "I know." She leaves it at that and he glances up at her gratefully. They watch each other quietly.

"At least you have a great job," she says after a while, moving back to her seat. "Your students adore you."

He smiles. He can't disagree with that. And he loves teaching - music and performance comes so easily to him that being able to encourage others to feel the same way is exciting and fun, and always interesting.

He takes the bottle from her when she offers it, drinks from it, and puts it on the coffee table. Then he reaches for her.

"I was thinking about maybe taking in more students," he says conversationally.

She smiles at him. "I'm happy if you are," she says softly.

* * *

**jealousy (hers)**

They're invited to a post-Grammy part for no real reason (neither of them are involved in any way) - casual only, which makes it more fun. Less than an hour into the party, the middle of the room is cleared off completely in favour of a dance floor when someone brings up a dance competition. There are talented dancers in the room who take the competition very seriously, and Jesse is one of them. He asks her to dance with him, and she refuses. (Rachel Berry _sings_. Dancing is merely something she gets done on the side to remain competitive on Broadway.)

(She isn't as good as him at dancing, she knows.)

She avoids his gaze when he raises his eyebrow at her knowingly, and shuffles off to the side. She watches him flit around the room, trying to find someone he's practiced with. She should be watching the dancers on the floor, as they truly are incredible, but she can't help staring at him suspiciously. She stiffens when she realises he's found one of his more attractive students in the crowd, and turns her gaze steadfastly away from both of them. She keeps watching the other dancers instead.

When the fourth duo finishes and she looks away, he's walking up to her, and she's barely able to stop glowering as he tugs her towards him.

"All right, that's it," he says, leaning down to pull the heels off her feet, and drags her to the makeshift dance floor.

He doesn't wait for musical cues or a new track to start, simply throws himself into what's already playing. She only follows - spins when he flicks his wrist lightly, eases the weight from one side of her body to the other when he half-lifts her.

As the beat speeds up, she becomes less aware of what she's doing, instead paying attention to what he's doing so she can respond to him. Her steps become quicker, sliding into a familiar pattern of movements that she's seen him rehearse many times before, only faster than that. She's inexperienced (she doesn't practice this routine) and her actions are imprecise, but every time his fingers glide past exposed skin she tingles. Heat surges through her, and more than a few times she automatically pulls herself toward him to prolong his touch. Their eyes never stray from each other's, and with this gaze he pushes her on, encouraging her.

She knows how to play for an audience - she knows that this almost tangible need, drawing them closer together than necessary, puts on a far more engaging show than the clinical perfection of the dancers before her.

As the music starts lifting to meet its climax, she lifts herself to her toes to reduce the distance between their bodies, and he pulls her closer to him, meeting her neatly.

"You're wearing your shorts, right?" he whispers. Before she can answer him (yes), his hand slides up her thigh under her dress, balancing her as he dips her almost perpendicular to the ground. One of her legs bends gracefully, her toes curving towards the floor, but the other lifts easily, straightening perfectly by his shoulder.

She barely hears the music reaching its height and stopping. Her eyes stay on his as she breathes heavily. He's used to the exertion, but under her hand, on top of his chest, she can feel even his heart beating a little faster than usual. She smiles at him slightly.

"You're not the best dancer," he says, smiling, shaking his head, "but you're my favourite partner."

She pushes herself up just a little so she can kiss him. He pulls her upright while kissing her back. Only a few seconds after he pulls away, after her ears have stopped ringing and she's no longer distracted by her breathing or his heartbeat, does she hear the crowd cheering for them loudly. The applause doesn't fade for a long time.

He grins at her smugly. She smacks his shoulder.


	6. perspective: one

I have so many ideas for **perspective** that I thought I'd use it as a recurring theme instead of just using it once for two people. The next chapter won't be 'perspective', but I'll fit another one in soon. And another one soon after that.

And a little background: this chapter's mostly in the POV of Diane Fabray, Quinn's daughter. In my head, Quinn kept her baby, lived with Rachel and her dads, and though Puck is still the father, Quinn married another man (I've named him Mark) further down the line. (Evidently I don't think any of the high school relationships can last!)

* * *

**perspective (diane fabray)**

Her aunt Rachel is the strongest person she knows. She has the brightest smile, the biggest heart, and at the same time, the fiercest will.

As far as Diane knows, Rachel was the only one who managed to hold the entire glee club together when she and her mother had been younger. She's still the only one who manages to keep them together, even though she lives in New York. When her aunt promises something, she will do anything she can to make it happen. She's intelligent, and she's brave, and even when things get tough, she never sheds a tear.

"She doesn't like to cry," her mother explains when she asks, sighing. "She decided back in high school that it would never help her get anywhere." She looks sad and embarrassed about this, but Diane keeps herself from asking about it.

How Rachel doesn't cry is something she'll never understand. Everyone she knows turns to her. Sometimes she'll come home from school during one of Rachel's stays and see her sitting on the couch with her mother, nodding patiently. Once she went to her dad's place and saw him on the phone, his eyes red, saying, "Bye, Berry," as soon as he noticed her entering. The Berries, who are, according to her mother, her surrogate grandparents, have the highest total outgoing call time on their cellphones that she has ever seen.

Not crying isn't healthy. Diane may only be a kid but she knows this. No one that Rachel knows seems to be able to bring her guard down for long enough.

* * *

Love is difficult, she learns from her aunt. Her mother found Mark when she was three, and they got married in the year she turned seven. Mark loves her mother, and he loves her, and the fact that he accepts all of Quinn, that is, _both of them_, makes her believe that love for anyone is truly possible.

For as long as she could remember, though, Rachel came back whenever she could during semester breaks (while at college) and then during major holidays and random long weekends, looking tired but determined. She always came back alone, and when her mother asked her about her love life during dinner, she always waved it away.

* * *

She asks Rachel about it one morning as they make her mother pancakes for breakfast. Rachel is, as always, honest to her (and this is why she's her favourite of all her mom's friends). "I was dating someone until last month," she tells her, flicking her wrist at Diane's fingers as she sticks them in the pancake batter.

"Didn't he like you? Didn't you like him? Did he _cheat on you_?" she asks, her jaw dropping.

Rachel smiles at this, amused. "Nothing like that," she says, and Diana can practically hear her aunt filing away something in her head to ask her mother about the kind of television she's been watching. "He didn't like that I sang so much."

Diane suddenly understands. Singing is all that Rachel lives for, singing and performing - it's in every part of her being, in the musical tone of her voice even when she's speaking normally, or when she waves her arms around when she's trying to prove a point. Singing is part of the Rachel package. She thinks about this as she stirs the batter seriously.

"Do you think you'll find someone who understands that part of you?" Diana asks curiously. Mark understands even Mom's littlest things, but Aunt Rachel is totally different, beyond anything she's ever known, so it's hard to know if anyone will get her.

"Hopefully," Rachel says, her smile getting fainter.

Diane tiptoes, tugging her down so she can kiss her aunt on the cheek. She knows she'll find someone. She just hopes it happens soon.

* * *

She and her mother go to New York City that following January to watch her aunt in the _All and Sundry_ production. The show is a lot of fun, even though her mother plugs her ears a couple of times (she doesn't know why she cares, her father told her every swear word she needed to know by the time she was six). Her favourite thing about the story is the romance of Rachel's character, because of the way they look at each other and the way their voices sound together. She's impressed by how amazing her aunt is.

Rachel's strength is why Diane is a little cautious about Jesse when she first meets him backstage. He's not _manly_ enough. He dances. He's too thin. How he can be there for someone like Rachel is hard to imagine.

The only reasons she accepts him are because he can sing (and singing is _Rachel_), and because of something else that she notices backstage, one time: Neither of them are paying attention to each other as they talk to people beside them, but Diane notices that Rachel's hand is being held tightly in his. His thumb rubs against the curve of her wrist.

And then Rachel and Jesse look at each other, very quickly, at the same time, and Diane wants to swoon. She's barely a teen, but she understands heat. Whatever they had on-stage, they have a thousand times over here, when no one else is watching them. And she could never not want that for her aunt.

* * *

On Christmas Eve she's having dinner with her mother, Mark, and her father, when her mother gets a call. She pales. Mark asks her what's wrong and she says, "Leroy."

Rachel is the first one they see as they rush to the hospital. Her father is leaning against her, looking worried and exhausted. Her mother is hyperventilating already. "Where is he? How is he? What happened?"

Rachel says, calmly, "Dad was in an accident. He's been stabilised but they're not telling us anything else yet."

Her mother's face crumples and Rachel reaches for her. Diane's heart sinks. The Berries have been, for all intents and purposes, part of her and her mother's family, especially since Rachel and her mother are pretty much sisters. She can't imagine being without any of them, least of all her granddad, with his big laughs and warm hugs.

She wonders how Rachel must feel and watches her as she rubs her mother's back quietly. She looks sad, but doesn't cry. Not even when they are told Leroy Berry is in a coma.

* * *

Her Uncle Finn is the sweetest man she knows, but when he sits next to Rachel, even he doesn't get through to her. Her mother comes by to show her support, but she ends up being the one crying instead. Mr Berry (the other one) has taken to walking around with tissues into which he can sob. Rachel's grandmother is a generally cheery old woman, but she has a permanently gaunt look on her face. Rachel is there for all of them.

On the day after Christmas, Diane gives up on the adults and sits next to Rachel. She looks exhausted and her eyes are bloodshot; her hair is a mess, and she hasn't changed her clothes in a day - this is the least composed she's ever seen her look, and she's too quiet, too sad, too not-Rachel. Diane takes one of her hands in both of hers. Rachel smiles at her faintly and gives them a gentle squeeze.

They've only been sitting like this for twenty minutes when someone strides into the room, walking straight to the two of them.

Jesse kneels down in front of Rachel, places his hands on her knees, and whispers, "Hey."

Her reaction to him is not at all dramatic, not at all as showy as Diane is used to. She only slides down from her seat, joining him on the ground, and leans against him. His arms wrap around her tightly. It takes Diane a few minutes to realise that her aunt's body is shaking, and then she realises she's finally starting to cry.

She would leave to give them privacy, but Rachel never lets go of her hand.

* * *

"She should've called me earlier," he mutters, rubbing her back as she's falling asleep. "I'm only forty-five minutes away."

"I think she wanted you to be with your family, sir," Diane tells him quietly.

Jesse glances up at her, surprised. "How has she been?" he asks her.

Diane flushes slightly, pleased that she's the one he's asking when her mother is only one room down. "She's been here for everyone else. She didn't even cry on Uncle Finn." She leans in, explaining seriously, "_Everyone_ gives in to Uncle Finn."

Jesse nods, distracted, then gazes at the woman in his arms tenderly. "Your aunt Rachel," he tells her softly, "is the strongest person I've ever met."

Diane agrees solemnly. "She's like Spiderman," she explains. He's her and her father's favourite comicbook superhero - sure, Superman kicks villain butt, but he's an alien. Spiderman is a real person, and he's there for everyone, and he lets them cry on him. And Rachel is Diane's hero.

Jesse smiles at her briefly and they both watch Rachel sleep, tear tracks drying on her face.

Jesse lets Rachel cry, Diane realises. "Thank you."

"Hmmm?" he asks, confused.

"For letting her not be Spiderman for a while," she says, looking away from his face so he doesn't see her embarrassment.

"Are you calling me Mary Jane?" he asks, and she snaps her head up to look at him. He's grinning at her. She beams at him and shrugs. They sit there quietly for a little longer.

"She lets you call her Rachel, doesn't she?" he asks, looking back at her. Diane nods. "Then call me Jesse."

Diane makes a show out of responding to this, then finally says, "Sure." She smiles at him wickedly, smiling exactly as she knows her mother smiles when she's planning something. "After you two get married."

* * *

She starts calling him Jesse within the next two years.

It's during that year that Rachel's father gets a heart attack. Diane Fabray is standing right beside Jesse, right behind Rachel, as they receive the news.


	7. pasts

I've been complaining about the writing for this show ever since it started, but they hit a low point with Jesse's character arc (mainly because I don't understand any of his motivations). It's a good thing my backstory for these two deviates at _The Power of Madonna_ - they were together, he never transferred to her school, and the reason they broke up was that he couldn't really stand that Vocal Adrenaline lost to New Directions at the National, because he's kind of an arrogant douche that way.

* * *

**pasts (hers)**

"You're smirking."

"What?"

"There's no point. I'm sorry to tell you this, but there's no one in this room who thinks I'm a catch except you." She says this so matter-of-factly, and with a light, teasing smile on her face, that he tries to keep himself from scowling as he tightens his grip around her.

"You did always tell me I was smarter than all the boys in your school," he says. She laughs and laces her fingers through his, and his smirk melts into a smile.

"Your school doesn't make sense," he tells her, setting his drink down so his other arm can come around her. She nestles into the curve of his arm. "I'm practically a celebrity at Carmel."

She snorts softly, shaking her head. "Carmel didn't have the Cheerios," she reminds him. They're swaying a little to the music unconsciously at this point.

He shrugs. "Yes, but - "

"Get a room," a voice comes from behind them. Rachel brightens. "Quinn?" She shakes free from Jesse quickly and spins around to hug the blonde.

Quinn hugs back tightly. "Hey, loser." She steps back, smiling as she notices him reach for Rachel's fingers as soon as she's back within reach. She nods at the people surrounding them. "Talked to anyone yet?"

"Nah, couldn't find any of the glee kids," Rachel says, picking up Jesse's drink and sipping from it herself. She hands it to him when she's done.

"You should talk to one of those pathetic people in their Letterman jackets. 'Hey, remember me? You used to Slushie me and now I'm famous. What do _you_ do?'" Quinn suggests, grinning at her fiercely. Her expression holds no hint of malice, only eagerness and genuine affection, and in contrast with the gym around them (which hasn't at all changed in the last ten years), it's one of those moments Rachel has where everything that she has and everything that has changed is pushed into perspective.

Rachel takes time to respond and looks like she's going to protest, so Jesse lets go of her hand and pushes her back towards her friend. "That is a _great_ idea," he agrees, then promises, "I'll beat anyone up if they lay a hand on you."

Rachel bursts into laughter. "Sure you will," she says, squeezing his bicep. "You could use the choreographed dance-fight scene from _Michael_."

Jesse makes a face at her as Quinn drags her away, laughing.

xx

He's talking to the old glee club instructor Bill Schuester (he insisted on getting the old glee club together for a gathering afterward, and ended up turning up at the reunion itself) when he notices her walking back towards him. She grabs the hand he stretches towards her, smiling at him lightly, and turns to face the older man as she rests against him comfortably.

"Mr Schue," she says, beaming at him. "How are you? How's the club now?"

He tunes out of the conversation as Schuester replies enthusiastically, and looks around him instead. He notices Mercedes standing with a few other familiar people and waves her over. Then he notices a woman standing next to three men punching one another in the shoulder, staring at Rachel.

When Schuester slips away to talk to another student, he nudges Rachel slightly. "Have you seen her before?" he asks.

She squints. "No." When the woman notices Rachel's looking at her, she starts waving furiously. Rachel raises her hand in response, perplexed. The woman grabs one of the men next to her and drags him to them.

Mercedes reaches the three of them and hugs Rachel quickly. "Looking good, girl," she says appreciatively.

Rachel smiles at her. "Same to you. A Kurt Hummel original?" she says, winking at her.

"Like I can afford that boy's clothing," Mercedes says, rolling her eyes. "Have you seen him yet?"

"Not - " Rachel starts, when she's interrupted by the woman thrusting her hand into Rachel's.

"Rachel Berry?" she asks excitedly, and when Rachel nods, she starts gushing. "I am _such _a huge fan. I watched you in _Mink_ and when I found out you'd come back to New York I had to watch every show that you were in - " she turns to Jesse abruptly, "Jesse St James, you were _so great_ in _All and Sundry_ but I think the one you did after that wasn't that good at all, you should think about working with Rachel all the time - " she turns back to Rachel, her hand tightening around hers, " - but oh my god you're so good _all the time_ and I thought it was so romantic when - "

Rachel smiles at her, looking at ease, but when Jesse tries to pull away from them to talk to Mercedes, her grip on his hand tightens, and she pulls him closer, pulling his arm around her waist and resting his hand on her hip. She glances at him, narrowing her eyebrows just enough to look threatening (_don't you dare leave me alone with her_) before she turns back to the conversation.

Amused, Jesse raises his eyebrows at Mercedes, who looks slightly put off. "You know who this chick's married to?" she asks softly, nodding at the bored-looking man holding on to the woman's hand.

He shakes his head. Rachel's hand tightens around his again, as if she's listening to Jesse and Mercedes and doesn't want them to get into it.

"He used to be captain of the hockey team," Mercedes explains. It takes him a second to realise the significance of the fact and he turns to glare at him. The man stares back at him uncomprehendingly, exacerbating Jesse's irritation.

"Hey Rachel," he interrupts loudly. "Why don't you tell her how well you know her husband?"

xx 

The conversation ends when the woman whines, "_I_ used to be in glee in _my school_!", slaps her husband (making a loud crack), and stalks away. The ex-captain rubs his rapidly reddening cheek, huffs at Rachel and Mercedes (both of whom look completely satisfied) and walks in the other direction.

"You're smirking."

"What?" Rachel says, glancing up at him.

Jesse laughs and kisses her cheek. "Come on, let's go find more spouses to terrorise your old bullies."

* * *

**pasts (theirs)**

He wakes up when the bed shifts under his girlfriend as she climbs up and straddles him. His hands move automatically to her hips even as he blinks up at her blearily. "What time is it?"

"Doesn't matter," she informs him. "It's snowing so hard we're not going anywhere today. My boss told me I didn't need to go in, and James called to say your rehearsal's been cancelled."

He grins at her, sliding his hands up to her back so he can pull her down. "Snow day?" he whispers excitedly.

She grins right back. Every man she's been with before him liked spending hours out in the snow. Jesse, though, is just like her - they spend so much time pushing themselves to their limits that they like it when they have a reason to pull back and relax. He likes staying in bed with her, under the covers. He's the only person she's always happy to be lazy with. "Snow day," she confirms, and kisses him.

xx

It's later in the afternoon when they're sitting together quietly, watching each other in the fading sunlight.

"How did you get this?" Her fingers trace the whitening line that twists from the top of his arm to his elbow.

"Practicing for Nationals," he says, wincing. "I needed stitches."

"How come I didn't see it until last year?" she asks curiously. "Did you get it the year that we..."

"No, it was the year before that," he says easily. "If I lost that much blood to win second place I would probably have killed myself." His smile fades when he notices she's steadfastly refusing him eye contact, paying too much attention to the scar. "Hey," he says, tugging at the sleeve of the t-shirt (his) that she's wearing.

"I'm OK," she says quickly, shaking her head. "I just - we were really stupid back then."

"_I_ was stupid," he reminds her. "And too proud."

"_Yes_," she says impatiently, and she waves him off. "But if we hadn't been - if _you_ hadn't been stupid," she corrects herself, noticing him opening his mouth to cut in. "Maybe we would've been like this for longer."

"No." His answer is sure. "We wouldn't have lasted."

She bites her lip just like she used to and he has to keep himself from kissing her so that neither of them get distracted. "You needed to be with other people and I needed to learn to be _happier_ for other people," he explains firmly. "We wouldn't have made it."

She looks up at him and their eyes meet. He can see her assessing him, what he's saying.

"_Rachel_," he says, wrapping strands of her hair around his finger and pulling it gently. "I am _so glad_ we're like this now."

She's quiet for a while. Watching her, he can spot the exact moment she shakes away this conversation, realising how silly it is. "For future reference, if you want to keep up your reputation you may want to fabricate a story for your scar about a knife fight or something," she says finally.

He smiles at her, pleased. "But _you_ like it," he says confidently, tickling her at the waist.

She squirms away as she pretends to consider this, barely hiding her smile, then reaches up to press her lips against his. "Maybe."


	8. dreams

I'm sorry this has taken a while - the school system here is different, so I'm currently three months away from my finals and one month away from the due date of a couple of very, very important papers. But here it is! I just want to say that no matter how long I take between updates, I'll probably be posting to this story for a long time - I can't help but love these two together, and I want to keep writing for them.

This chapter gets a little sappier than usual, but the dreaminess of it is my excuse.

* * *

**dreams (hers)**

She grows up not just with musicals but with black and white. Her fathers labelled anything on TV as low-class and gave her their set of video tapes instead, packed with old movies.

It's because of this that she dreams as she does - charming men, endearingly awkward men; olden-day clothes, with long yet teasing and beautiful dresses, and suits and hats and bow-ties. She loves old cars, old music, the way people used to talk - everything. Her misguided fashion in early high school was her attempt at getting that style - sweaters and printed skirts and proper shoes (never sneakers).

And the women in these movies are stronger than the fictional women the girls of her age watch - these women are reporters or actresses or, at the very least, _dreamers_, who go out of their way to do what they want. And the men always eat out of the palms of their hands. That's something to want, isn't it? Something that she should believe is possible?

Once, when she and Jesse were dating in high school, they had spent an entire rainy afternoon in the entertainment room at her house, skipping the usual musicals for something different. She rambled, getting too wrapped up in the details as she tends to do, but when she glanced up at him as Audrey Hepburn hummed dreamily about a moon river (she loves watching people react to this scene), Jesse was staring right back at her, smiling, looking genuinely interested. She couldn't help but kiss him.

-x-

It's only a few weeks into their relationship this time when Mark decides to throw a Halloween party for everyone on shows currently running on Broadway, which he presents as a party for "fancy people" so his guests come as people, not as creatures.

It's easy to figure out what she'll be wearing - the elegant yellow dress she chooses comes up to her knee, but the cut and heft of it suits the women she used to watch - classy, beautiful, confident. As she exits her taxi that evening and hooks her arm with Jane's, she doesn't feel the need to look for Jesse, even though she wants to.

Fifteen minutes into the party, she steps away from her friend to get a drink, spins around, and steps back again in surprise when she sees him standing in front of her. Jesse's in an old-fashioned suit, in a dark coffee brown; a fedora rests on his head, tilted to the side. He smirks at her smugly when she reaches forward and touches the material, dazed and speechless.

"Whatdya think, doll?" he drawls, perfectly in-character.

She finally grins, trailing her fingers across his chest to tug at the tie (predictably black - Jesse doesn't seem to be capable of dressing without at least a little black in his outfit). "Not bad, mister," she allows.

He reaches up to flick at his hat, tipping it further to the side. "And may I say you look beautiful?"

"You may." She curtsies just a little. Her hands stay on his chest, fiddling with non-existent lint, and his arms come up around her waist easily. Their pose is familiar, but in these clothes, in this orange lighting, it feels like something from her old movies - quiet conversations under streetlights, people pushing past them but no one paying attention.

She breathes this moment in, trying to push back a sudden, unreasonable surge of tears. "You remembered," she says softly. The thing is, Jesse remembering something from nine years ago and going through the trouble of doing it makes her happy, but people _do_ do things for, so that's not the reason she's touched. The difference is in the way he keeps looking at her, warm and pleased. It's like indulging her isn't _just_ to please her - it's like he's happy _because_ she is. She recognises this because she feels it, too - she'll always be happy to be there for him, to help him be happy.

"I couldn't forget," he corrects her. When she looks up at him quickly, surprised, he grins at her. "Not after the number of times you made me watch _The Philadelphia Story_."

She laughs and hits him lightly on the shoulder. He watches her, pleased, but when he leans in to kiss her she pulls away. She holds her hands behind her back and looks at him mischievously, her eyes sparkling. "A lady doesn't give a man her time without a couple of drinks in her," she intones in her best Hepburn (Katherine, not Audrey, of course) impression.

"Of course," he says, sliding back into the role easily. "Lead the way, ma'am."

-x-

It's early the next morning when the party ends, and as they walk back to her building, the shops along the street are bristling quietly into action. They pause by the florist's as fresh flowers are unloaded from a van, where he buys her a single rose and presents it to her with a flourish. She smiles. Flowers aren't her style or his, but it suits the mood and their clothing.

When he drops her off at her place, he kisses her firmly against her door, taps on the frame, then tells her good night. She plays with the stem of the rose between her fingers as she watches him walk away, and she can hear him whistling as he turns into the elevator lobby.

This soft sound, more than anything else that happened between them before, makes her think that maybe she's going to be with him for good.

_One day I'll move out of this apartment_, she thinks, stepping inside and locking the door behind her. She'll probably live with him. She'll have to convince her dad to get used to him. She'll need to get ready to steel herself against his quick temper 24-7. She'll have to get used to him shaking her awake every morning because he always forgets to set the alarm on his bedside clock (she only wakes up by alarms, and he manages it with some kind of internal body clock).

He has far too many products to use on his hair, even though it's shorter now. He gets a little impatient with her whenever she goes to buy the paper every morning, because she always talks to the newsagent for twenty minutes because Rachel knows she's lonely. He has a tendency to brood. He has a closet with too many black clothes.

But she'll deal with it. One day she will marry this man.

* * *

**dreams (his)**

They return from their honeymoon just three days before the Emmys, where he wins an award for his performance in a mini-series. He gets up, begins to walk away (just a little bit dazed), then turns and rushes back to kiss her quickly.

As he climbs up on stage confidently, the feeling of her laugh against her lips is what reminds him to smile.

The thing about the award he wins is that at this point in the ceremony, no one's interested - it's not really a major category. He makes his thank-yous brief and doesn't bother with the forced humour to keep them engaged, and after a second's consideration, decides to get a little sappy (they just got married a week ago, after all).

"And this is to my wife - " and he gulps here, barely noticeably, just as he notices the audience's buzzing softening slightly. "For how much you've supported and tolerated me, and how quickly you manage to shut me up, and how even when you annoy me, you inspire me - for all of that you deserve half of this award." She's sitting near the back of the room, but he knows she must be smiling. "But I'm selfish, and you deserve one on your own, so go get it yourself."

The crowd chuckles (actually chuckles!) at him appreciatively, and he bows and walks away so he can end on a high note. When he leaves from backstage and goes back to his seat, she grabs his hand tightly and settles against his side. They stay silent.


	9. perspective: two

It's a little tougher fitting Shelby into my version of events, but here's my attempt - Rachel finds out about Shelby being her biological mother, but Jesse/any deceit is not involved. That's all you need to know.

Also, _His Girl Friday_ is a movie from 1940, so that's a little nod to Rachel _and_ Shelby's love for old movies. (I'm going to call that inherited taste!)

* * *

**perspective (shelby corcoran)**

She's always been amused that she knows Jesse better than she knows Rachel. It isn't intentional, but even after Rachel went to her school to confront her, their relationship as a mother and daughter, for the most part, doesn't change. Rachel has her parents, and Shelby continues to not want kids. The few times they meet each other, Rachel is cheery and tries hard to appease her, something that they stick to even when their nerves are frayed. They know each other by name, maybe a little bit by biology, a lot by taste (and not just musically - two days before Rachel leaves for London, she drops by Shelby's with an old VHS tape of _His Girl Friday_) - but they aren't really family. They meet each other more by coincidence than design, and every couple of years Rachel tells her about a new production she's in, saying she's reserved a couple of tickets for her in her name.

On the other hand, she coaches Jesse for close to four years. She prods him forward, makes him practice a little bit more, and so she knows the way he looks when he's afraid of disappointing someone, the way he looks when he's tired or hungry, the way he looks when he's frustrated or angry and needs to take it out on someone, the way he looks when he yells - things a mother would know about her child, she thinks. She encourages him to go to UCLA, and he sends her cards every Christmas. When he decides to move from LA to New York, he comes by Ohio first, and they have coffee as they discuss career moves and glee club routines.

* * *

Rachel invites her to the musical in New York and she's there on its second weekend, mostly because she knows her dads would be at opening weekend and she'd rather have Rachel's undivided attention. She'd been told Jesse was in the production, too, but she's momentarily surprised to see him as her daughter's love interest. Then she sees them sing together, and she gets it.

It doesn't escape her notice that neither of them let go of the other's hands when they come out for curtain call.

* * *

She lingers around the stage door and she can't help but feel proud that the star with the greatest number of people around her is Rachel, until she realises that she knows most of those faces - vaguely, yes, but she remembers them all.

Jesse spots her before Rachel does and walks over to her quickly. "Shelby!" he exclaims, looking pleased.

When he hesitates politely, she smiles at him and reaches for a quick hug. "Long time no see."

"I didn't know you'd be here tonight."

"I would've come last week, but her dads - "

Jesse nods understandingly, and she feels a sudden rush of warmth for this man, whom she'd watched grow, having known him as a boy. "You were fantastic, Jesse," she says, warmly, honestly.

"Thank you," he tells her, and she knows his gratitude is sincere. They smile at each other, and look away, tracing the same woman in the crowd.

"Her old friends from came by," he says, knowing she knows who they're talking about.

"Oh. Finn, too?" she asks, offhandedly.

"I guess so." He doesn't give her the reaction she's looking for, she notices, disappointed - no jealousy, no possession; she feels like she's miscalculated. "Do you want me to get her to come here?"

"I don't - "

"They're in the city for the next few days. I think she'd like to talk to you first."

Jesse slips off and squeezes Rachel's shoulder, whispers in her ear. Rachel looks up right at her and her smile brightens. She says something to her friends and comes over to Shelby with Jesse.

Shelby reaches for her daughter and hugs her tightly as she greets her. When she pulls away, Rachel is looking at her hopefully.

"You were amazing, sweetheart," she says (and she's glad that she doesn't have to lie).

Rachel beams. Shelby is used to smiles, but seeing this one makes something in her settle, and she feels comfortable, happy. Jesse has gone off to talk to someone near the stage door, leaving them on their own.

Their conversation is put on hold when she remembers the time. "Shall we have dinner?" Shelby asks, glancing quickly at Rachel's old glee club. They let out a huge burst of laughter that she can hear even from this distance, but Rachel is quick to wave them away.

"Yes, of course," Rachel says earnestly. "I'm meeting them for brunch on Monday when the understudies take over." She takes her mother's hand into hers. "Any requests?"

Shelby smiles at her softly. "Anything's fine. Italian?" Rachel nods, and Shelby grins at her. "Do you want any special guests?"

Rachel flushes, looking at her questioningly. Shelby nods, and Rachel smiles, turns away to bring Jesse back to the two of them.

When he looks ready to argue Shelby says, firmly, "Please."

* * *

She knows now she hasn't miscalculated. When Rachel leaves for the toilet she leaps at the chance to get confirmation. "So. You told her yet?" Shelby asks casually.

Jesse freezes for a split-second, his eyes widening slightly in fear. When he continues to pour the drink in his glass, he looks a little unsettled, and she tries to hide her smile. Talented, but terrible at covering truths about his heart. Just as he used to be. (He's ridiculously transparent - he's always touching her, on the arm, pushing hair out of her eyes; he stares at her when she's talking like she's speaking his truths - he's smitten.)

"I don't - " Jesse starts, and coughs to take the edge off his voice. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, please," Shelby sighs. "At least tell me you've done it already, if you're not going to tell her you love her yet."

"Done - _it_?" The red in his cheeks rises so quickly Shelby nearly chokes on her water.

"Se - " she tries to elaborate, and Jesse wheezes in interruption. Shelby rolls her eyes. "I'm not going to kill you."

She's never seen him this flustered, and it pleases her; clearly this means something to him. She takes pity on him, though.

"I can see you make her happy," she says, patting his arm (and she's relieved she doesn't have to lie about this, either - her daughter looks at him like she would stop performing if Jesse asked her to - although the main reason she would do it, the main reason she loves him, is because she knows Jesse would _never_ ask that of her.).

Jesse smiles slightly, relieved and enormously, tangibly happy. "Do you think so?" he asks, hopeful.

She laughs as she spots Rachel walking back to their table. "I'm her mother, Jesse," she says, conspiratorially, "I _know_ so."

* * *

She gets a taxi right outside the restaurant, to her relief. "I'll see you two around."

"Thank you for coming, Mom," Rachel says, hugging her. "When's your train leaving?"

"Tomorrow at noon." She hugs Jesse briefly.

"We'll see you off," he promises, and she smiles at him as his arm returns to where it had been, resting loosely on Rachel's hip. She smirks when she notices his thumb slipping between her shirt and jeans, rubbing the skin there in circles. _Definitely doing it, then._

"I am so proud of you," she says, deliberately looking at both of them in the eye, and when they grin brightly in response, she has to try hard to blink back tears. To have _two_ people to whom her opinion means so much (especially when they get critics and directors' rave reviews, too) is more than she ever expected when she left New York without achieving her dreams, and she's touched. She quickly turns into the taxi and gives the driver the address to her hotel.

Rachel taps on the driver's window. "I'm going to ask my mother what route you took when she gets back," Rachel says, her voice low and dangerous (Shelby is impressed), "and if she tells me you took any longer than twenty minutes - "

"Got it, ma'am," the driver cuts in hastily. Rachel bites back a smile as she glances her mother, who grins at her, pleased. "Talk to you later, honey," she says with a wink.

As the car pulls out of the curb (but stops, unfortunately, at a traffic light - Shelby notes the driver's sudden panic with amusement), Shelby turns around to watch them. Rachel and Jesse are standing just out of the golden glow of the restaurant lighting, her arms around his shoulders and his hands on her waist. As they lean in to kiss they have none of the frenzy or force they had on-stage, but the love bleeds through in the way they linger, content to breathe in each other's air.

They look like they've stepped right out of her favourite old movies, monochrome and easy-in-love.

Shelby turns away, feeling like she's invading their privacy, and just a little bit lonely.


End file.
